Justice
by Oriondruid
Summary: I for one didn't feel that a certain villain even came close to getting his due 'comeuppance' in The Hunger Games, his death was too 'mild' by far. So I wrote this somewhat gory little drabble to balance that and bring an element of the story's title into play.


**Justice**

By Oriondruid

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**Summary: **_I don't know how others feel but I for one didn't get any satisfaction from the almost peacefully mild_ _death of the vile President Snow. He deserved a far worse and far more painful demise. So I devised this little story to make up for that lack. _

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******Disclaimer: **___As should be self-evident from my site profile photo I am not Suzanne Collins. Therefore I hold no claim to these characters. They are all the brilliant work of the author herself and I thank her for the opportunity to 'play' in her world for a while. This work is intended to be entirely 'Not for profit'._

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Every day begins the same way. How many hundreds had there been now? How long has he been in this hell? He wakes in the same spot he always does, in a cave by a river, a cave he remembers well as the one Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark had shared when the boy was injured.

He then has to decide what to do, stay there or move, knowing however that it will make no difference to the eventual outcome of the day's events. Whatever he does the Hunters will find him. If he has not run then he will spend the day hiding there in terror, contemplating the horror of what is to come. He would face the certainty that at sunset they will drag him out of the cave and to the meadow by the lake, to the place where the Cornucopia once stood. There the outcome will be the same as it always is.

Today he decides to head up river, deeper into the wooded gorge as it narrows. At least by doing that and sticking to the water he leaves little obvious trail for those who torment him to follow. Not that it will make any difference, they always find him. Eventually he leaves the river and heads deep into the woodland, which would, were it not for the horror that pursues him, seem beautiful. It doesn't matter however where he goes or how hard he runs, they will surely track him down and his end at their hands will, as always, be horrific. Nevertheless, if that would really be the end of it perhaps he might not even bother to run, but he knows that tomorrow he will again awake in that damned cave, whole and strong again, far fitter and younger than he had been in his previous life.

Sure enough, as he is sitting for a few moments to gather his breath he hears the distant sounds of a large body of people moving through the trees from whence he came. They've found him again, he must run!

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His breath comes in burning rasps, he has been running for what seems like hours and the sun is setting low as he finds himself breaking into the open from the woods into an all too familiar lakeside meadow. It is always here that each day ends, always here he dies in a spot that he knows all too well. A place where so many far more innocent than himself died before him at his behest.

They emerge from the woodland in a large arc, along the line of trees he has just emerged from and stop there looking at him. He knows that if they were closer he would see only implacable hatred in their eyes. Appeals for mercy will mean nothing to his Hunters. He has nowhere to run and with the lake behind him he is trapped. Slowly the encircling mass of people, no, not people, children, close in around him and the circle of hatred and vengeance is completed.

Somehow his killers for this bout of vengeance are selected and from amongst the mass of the avengers. Four of their number, two boys and two girls step forward, carrying knives and swords. They all are wearing savage grins of hatred as they close in on him and then commence to hack him to pieces, taking their time to inflict the maximum possible agony without killing him. After a long slow decimation of his body they leave him an agonised, bleeding mess of eviscerated flesh on the blood spattered grass of the meadow.

With his one remaining eye he sees the sun dip below the horizon as the day comes to it's end in the way it always does. A child walks up to him and as he dies she spits on his ravaged face, saying, "See you tomorrow President Snow."

**Author's Note: **This little tale regarding 'dear' President Snow's personal 'hell' is the first completed thing I've written since Christmas, as I've been suffering from one of my all too frequent debilitating bouts of clinical depression. This forced me to 'get real' and remove several 'stalled' and long overdue stories from my listing, details of which and my intentions regarding them are in my site profile. Not all are cancelled, some simply placed 'on hold' until my 'mad head' straightens itself out a bit more. :o)

I have however been making some slight progress on one new multi-chapter, an unusual Harry Potter/His Dark Materials 'crossover' but will only post this when it's complete as I've learned my lesson. However, today at least I felt able to write something new and this 'charming' little gory but satisfying 'one-shot' tale was the result. Enjoy! Catch you all later folks.

Many Blessings.

Oriondruid, (John).


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